21. Permission #2
Frank nodded quickly, and normal conversation gradually resumed around the diner. Lillian returned to our table, her smile genuine again as she refilled our cups.
“Don't mind Frank,” she said quietly. “He's been bitter since his wife left him last spring. Likes to spread it around like it's contagious.”
“Thank you,” Rowan said, and there was something in his voice I hadn't heard before. Not just gratitude, but surprise. Like he hadn't expected anyone in Harbor's End to stand up for him.
“Honey, your mother was one of the kindest people I ever knew. Anyone with sense could see she raised you right.” Lillian glanced between us, and I could see her putting pieces together. “Besides, this town's got bigger problems than who shares breakfast with whom.”
She moved on to other tables, but the warmth of her intervention lingered. I watched Rowan's shoulders relax, saw something ease in his expression that I hadn't realized was there.
“She's right, you know,” I said quietly. “About your mother being proud of you.”
“Hard to believe sometimes.” He took a sip of coffee, his gaze drifting to the window where Harbor's End was waking up to another ordinary day. “Feels like I disappointed her more than I made her proud.”
“That's grief talking, not truth.”
“Maybe.” He looked back at me, and there was something vulnerable in his expression. “It's weird, hearing someone else's memories of her. Like discovering a room in a house you thought you knew completely. ”
“Good weird or bad weird?”
“Good weird, I think. Scary, but good.” He smiled, and it was the first completely unguarded smile I'd seen from him. “Makes her feel more real somehow. Less like a ghost.”
I found myself wanting to extend this moment, to build on whatever had shifted between us. “Tom and David are coming over tonight for a barbecue. Nothing fancy, just burgers and beer on the back deck.” I paused, suddenly nervous. “You should come. If you want.”
“You sure?”
“I'm sure.” And I was, surprising myself with how much I meant it. “Seven o'clock. Bring your appetite and maybe that guitar of yours.”
The back deck was alive with the sound of laughter and the sizzle of burgers on the grill. Tom had arrived early with a cooler full of beer and stories from the bar, while David had brought his acoustic guitar and was picking out lazy melodies between conversations.
“I haven't seen you this relaxed in months,” Tom observed, settling back in his chair with a satisfied grunt. He gestured toward me with his beer bottle. “Whatever's got you smiling like that, keep it up.”
David nodded in agreement, pausing his playing. “It's like you remembered how to be human again. About time.”
I felt heat creep up my neck, but before I could deflect with my usual self-deprecating comment, the sound of boots on gravel announced Rowan's arrival. I turned toward the side gate, and my breath caught in my throat.
He walked through the twilight like he owned it, a six-pack of beer in one hand, guitar case slung over his shoulder.
His dark hair was slightly tousled from the motorcycle ride, and he'd changed into a black t-shirt that clung to his chest and shoulders in ways that made my mouth go dry.
There was something predatory in the way he moved, confident and loose-limbed, like he knew exactly the effect he was having.
“Sorry I'm late,” he said, his voice carrying that rough edge that did things to me I wasn't prepared to analyze in front of company. “Had to stop for supplies.”
Tom let out a low whistle. “Jesus, kid. You trying to give Elias a heart attack?”
Rowan's smile was pure sin as he caught my eye. “Just being neighborly.”
David's guitar playing had stopped entirely, and I could feel both men's attention ping-ponging between Rowan and me like they were watching a tennis match.
“Beer's in the cooler,” I managed, my voice rougher than I intended. “Burgers are almost ready.”
“Perfect timing then.” Rowan moved to the cooler, bending over to grab a bottle, and I had to force myself to look away before Tom and David noticed exactly where my attention had drifted.
But when I glanced back at them, Tom was wearing a knowing smirk, and David was trying very hard not to laugh.
“So,” Tom said conversationally, “this is interesting.”
Rowan settled into the empty chair between Tom and me, close enough that I caught his scent—soap and leather and something uniquely him that made my pulse quicken. He twisted off his beer cap with practiced ease, the simple motion somehow loaded with casual confidence.
“So what were you all talking about before I interrupted?” he asked, taking a slow sip of his beer, his eyes finding mine over the bottle.
“Oh, just how Elias here has been walking around with a stupid grin lately,” David said, picking up his guitar again but not playing, just holding it like a prop. “We were trying to figure out what's got him so cheerful.”
“Really?” Rowan's voice dropped to something almost conversational, but there was an undercurrent that made my skin warm. “And what conclusions did you reach?”
Tom leaned forward in his chair, clearly enjoying himself. “Well, we ruled out a lottery win and a religious conversion. That left us with the obvious.”
“Which is?”
“Someone's getting laid,” David said with a grin.
I nearly choked on my beer. “Jesus, David.”
“What? It's true. You've got that look. Satisfied. Relaxed. Like you've remembered what your body's for.” David strummed a chord, then looked between Rowan and me with calculating eyes. “Question is, who's the lucky person?”
The silence stretched out, thick with implication. Rowan's knee brushed against mine under the table—contact that could have been accidental but felt deliberate. The touch sent heat racing up my leg.
“Maybe some things are better left mysterious,” Rowan said quietly, but his voice carried an edge that made Tom sit up straighter.
“Oh, this is definitely getting interesting,” Tom murmured, taking a long pull from his beer. “The plot thickens.”
I stood abruptly, needing movement, needing distance from the charged atmosphere building around the table. “Burgers are done. Who wants cheese?”
But as I moved toward the grill, I felt Rowan's eyes tracking my movements, and when I glanced back, the look he was giving me was pure heat—the kind that promised things I couldn't think about with an audience.
David and Tom exchanged another loaded glance, and I realized this evening was going to be a lot more complicated than I'd planned.
Two hours and several rounds later, the empty beer bottles had multiplied across the deck like evidence of a very successful evening. The burgers were long gone, David's guitar had been passed around the circle, and inhibitions had dissolved into the warm night air.
“Alright,” Tom announced, leaning back in his chair with the satisfied grin of someone who'd reached the perfect level of drunk. “I'm calling it. Truth or dare time.”
“What are we, sixteen?” I protested, but even I could hear the lack of conviction in my voice.
“Come on, Elias,” David said, strumming a lazy chord. “When's the last time you did something completely stupid?”
Rowan shifted in his chair, and I caught the glint of mischief in his eyes. “I'm in,” he said, his voice carrying that rough edge that alcohol had only made more pronounced. “But we're all adults here. Let's make it interesting.”
“Define interesting,” Tom said, clearly intrigued.
“No truth,” Rowan said simply. “Only dares. And they have to be things we'll actually remember tomorrow.”
The suggestion hung in the air between us, loaded with possibility and danger in equal measure. I could feel my pulse quickening, though whether from the beer or the predatory way Rowan was looking at me, I couldn't say.
“Jesus,” David muttered. “This is either going to be the best idea we've ever had or the worst.”
“Both,” Tom said with conviction. “Definitely both. I'm in.”
All eyes turned to me. The smart thing would be to call it a night, to send everyone home before we crossed lines that couldn't be uncrossed. But the beer had made me reckless, and the way Rowan's knee kept brushing against mine under the table had my judgment compromised .
“Fine,” I said. “But what happens on this deck stays on this deck.”
“Deal,” they said in unison.
Tom went first. “Rowan, I dare you,” Tom said slowly, clearly savoring the moment, “to give someone at this table a shoulder massage. Your choice who.”
Rowan’s gaze swept the table, lingering on me just long enough to make my heart stutter, before landing on David. “David looks tense,” he said with a wicked little smile.
David rolled his eyes, pretending to groan.
Rowan grinned, already standing, his hands resting on David’s broad shoulders.
Up close, David was built like an ex–college linebacker who’d traded sprints for lawn mowing and backyard barbecues—a sturdy chest under a faded flannel shirt, arms thick and tan from weekends spent fixing things around the house.
Not exactly ripped, but solid, with a kind of grown-man strength that came from years of living in the real world.
His hair was graying at the temples, his jawline softened by a few extra pounds, but there was confidence in the way he held himself.
Dad bod, maybe, but a dad bod that could still carry you up a flight of stairs without getting winded.
Rowan’s hands kneaded into David’s traps, strong thumbs tracing circles through the fabric.
David started to protest, a joke on his lips, but the words dissolved into a low, involuntary sigh as Rowan found a pressure point.
The conversation at the table faltered. Even Tom—perpetually the loudest voice—fell quiet, watching with the same fascinated discomfort I felt humming in my bones.
Rowan was methodical, thumbs working deeper, fingers spreading over muscle and bone. David’s eyelids fluttered. “Jesus, man,” he muttered, “that’s—fuck. That’s actually really good.”